


It Was Never Up To Us

by CityofJade



Series: Deaths They Don't Remember [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sam and Dean's many deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CityofJade/pseuds/CityofJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He swallows hard, forcing back the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry Sammy." He says, and his voice is hoarse. Nearly a whisper.<br/>Their eyes meet.<br/>The gun fires, Sam drops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It wasn't Our Fault

They were wrong, they were so so wrong. They had forgotten that not every dead body met it's end at the hands of a monster. That demons weren't the only bastards who had no soul. That vampires weren't the only sadistic fucks who enjoyed the taste of blood. That you didn't have to be a werewolf to rip out some poor girls heart and discard her body in the river.

  
It shouldn't surprise them anymore, but it does. Evil is everywhere. Not just in those who were unfortunate enough to be born with claws, but in those who came into the world with ten fingers and ten toes and Grandma's and Grandpa's who spoil them every birthday. It creeps in, hand in hand with madness. That gleam in the eye of some overworked mother who ends up on the news for bashing her kid's brain in with a skillet. It vibrates in the tense set of a young teens shoulders as she pretends that the voice in her head is just her conscience, her own Jimminy Cricket if you will, and not that alternate personality that she vehemently insists is just teenage hormones.

  
They know this, and it took awhile, but it finally penetrated their thick skulls that not everything was black and white. So why did it surprise them this time?

  
In their line of work it's the humans that are the victims. Hapless and helpless and scared and somehow always in the way. That's just the way it's been for. . . well, forever.

  
Somehow, with the way they grew up, it never crossed Dean's mind to be scared of the things that normal people would be scared of. Like muggers in alleyways and drunkards with knives. He had been up against things much darker than a druggie teen who had shot up a supermarket; had much more pressing matters to worry about. Let _them_ be scared of the things that could pick a lock or run off with your purse. It wasn't his problem.

  
So it's almost funny really, how right now, at this very moment the thing he is most scared of is some snotty, rich, college kid who thought that maybe murder would be the perfect way to show his parents that he was capable of living his own life.

  
The Apocalypse is right around the corner, hanging over their heads ominously. _Say yes say yes say yes._

  
But Dean doesn't care right now. Yes or no, it doesn't matter. What matters is that there's a gun pointed at his baby brothers head, and Dean can't figure out the words he's trying to get out.

  
College kid, name something like Rick or Mark is talking. Going on about what a shit poor life he had. How he was never happy and how no one cared and blah blah blah blah, 'cause you know what? It's always the privileged people who think that they've got it bad. They're the ones with the front row seats, so close up that they can't get a look at the bigger picture, can't be bothered to turn their heads and take a look at what's behind them.

  
Rick-Mark-Tucker-who-the-fuck-cares is one of 'em. And the music was so loud, and the lights so blinding up there in the front, that now he can't cope in the silence and the dark, and so he's gonna drag everyone down with him.

  
"Please." Dean says, and it surprises all three of them, but right now he still doesn't care. "Please." He says again. And then it's the only word he can remember. _Please_ and _Sam_ and _Don't._

  
Not too long ago Sam broke the world. He did it in a convent with a couple of possessed woman and the blood fueled powers he was born with. And the world has been steadily creeping closer to oblivion ever since.

  
Dean had been prepared to be angry about it for the rest of his life, but now he isn't. Because Sam is still young and there's a fire in college kids eyes that Dean has seen in monsters. Burning flames that leave no doubt in Dean's mind that he _will_ pull the trigger.

  
The apocalypse couldn't happen if Dean hadn't broken the first seal anyway.

  
Never-worked-a-day-in-my-life Martin is getting more and more agitated. Near shouting about how his parents never loved him enough to even do a background check on his nannies and how he's probably going to die of lung cancer because one of them smelled faintly of smoke and probably cooked meth. He's near trembling now and it crosses Dean's mind that if he didn't know the truth he would probably be praying right now, begging God not to let Chance-Roy-Connor's finger slip on the trigger.

  
Sam's head is bowed slightly so Dean can't see his eyes, just the sleek curl of his hair and the grim set of his mouth. But he doesn't need to see him to know what he's thinking.

  
He's trying to find a way out of this mess. The gears in his head are spinning, running through every possible direction this could go and every way he can change the outcome. But Dean can only see one. And it ends with Sammy's brains splattered all over the wall of this dingy alley. And he can't let that happen. Oh god, he can't.

  
It's dark out. Barely enough light from the flickering yellow streetlamp at the mouth of the alley and the pale wash of the crescent moon's luminescence to see what's happening. The buildings are tall, and the windows are locked, and even the streets are silent. A rare occurrence for a a city this big. And if anything, it makes Dean feel smaller. Weaker. Useless.

  
It's funny, he's Dean Winchester. The Michael Sword. Monster hunter extraordinaire. He's been to hell, stared down creatures that would make any sane man run and hide. His mother burned on the ceiling, his father spent his life chasing down her supernatural killer, passed his legacy on to them. Dean Winchester doesn't do _weak._

  
And here he is.

  
James-Dirk-who-the-hell- _cares_ falls silent, cocks the gun, and Dean can see the way Sam tightens further at the action. Watches him raise his head and meet his eyes, and Dean hates what he can see in them. What he can practically hear him say. _I'm sorry. It's ok._

  
"Sam." He says, and college kid turns to look at him. Barks at him to shut up. But he can't, _he can't_ let this go unsaid. "Sammy, it wasn't your fault." He says, raises his voice over the kid's furious protestations. "Sammy," He continues, says it again, "It wasn't your fault."

  
"Shut up." College kid hisses. Presses the gun more firmly against Sam's temple. "Or I'll shoot. I swear I will."

  
It's going to happen anyway, no matter what Dean does, all three of them know that. Either way he's going to pull the trigger and Sam will be dead. _Sam will be dead._

  
He swallows hard, forcing back the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry Sammy." He says, and his voice is hoarse. Nearly a whisper.

  
Their eyes meet.

  
The gun fires, Sam drops.

  
_It's okay Sammy._ He thinks as the boy swivels around to face him. He closes his eyes. _We'll get out of this mess. Together._

  
The guns fires again.

  
The Winchester brothers are dead.


	2. It's All His Fault

The next morning Dean wakes up with headache. He stretches, gets up, turns on the news.

  
There's a college age kid there, apparently he was arrested last night and is responsible for the deaths they came up to investigate. Looks like it wasn't their type of gig after all.

  
The door opens and Sam comes in, clutching a take-out bag and a coffee. When he sees Dean his eyes drop and he holds out the bag. Dean takes it without thanks.

  
"Did you see the news?" Sam asks, "They arrested a kid, Marvin or something, he's already confessed to the murders."

  
Dean doesn't answer.

  
"Uh, should I pack? We gonna leave today?"

  
"No." Dean answers. "You're gonna find us a new gig. I'm going out. Call Bobby while you're at it. See if he's found anything that can help us clean up your mess."

  
Sam flinches and Dean doesn't care. It's his own damn fault.

  
All of it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few words to wrap up

**Author's Note:**

> Un-edited and written in a house full of screaming children. Definitely not my best work, sorry.
> 
> Anyway, we all know that there have been countless deaths that the boys are not aware of. It's a cannon fact. So I've decided to start a series about all the deaths they don't remember. Updating will be sporadic, but tell me what you think!


End file.
